A Song for His Fortieth

I can play exactly four chords on the guitar. For my husband's fortieth birthday in February, I decided to write him a song anyway.

It took two months of secret practice in the car, in the bathroom and once, memorably, in a parking garage. I wrote verses about the day we met in the rain, about our terrible first apartment, about our daughter's laugh, about the way he sings to the dog when he thinks no one is listening.

At his party, I stood up in front of thirty friends with my hands shaking and played it. My voice cracked twice. I messed up the bridge. Our daughter, who's six, jumped up and sang the chorus with me without being asked.

When I finished, my husband walked across the room and hugged me for a very long time without saying a word. Later, he asked me to play it again, just for him. I did.